


A Modicum of Restraint

by FreudianSlaps



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Praise Kink, Restraints, Safe Sane and Consensual, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, actually beta'd a bit so, the self indulgent kink au gets a plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22931386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreudianSlaps/pseuds/FreudianSlaps
Summary: “I’m not interested,” he returned finally, his voice the low sort of baritone that made the back of Jaskier’s scalp tingle. Despite this glaring red flag, and despite his usual respect for an outright, honest refusal, Jaskier sat down across from the other man. It was rare that he was so quickly turned away, if only because he typically had a good eye for an interested party.“Tell me, is it a sexuality thing, or just my general,” he gestured to the whole of himself vaguely, “Three words. Just three words.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 51
Kudos: 349





	1. Introductions

A soft fingertip absently trailed down from his neck to the first open button of his collared shirt, grazing over the chest hair that he couldn’t hide if he wanted to. She laughed at his jokes and pressed in close. Her full bosom strained the black corset worn over her bright red dress. She leaned forward and spoke into his ear, letting her hot breath ghost against his skin.

Jaskier blanched almost immediately. He was enough of an actor and a gentleman not to outright cringe but her breathy inquiry had made his stomach sink. He knew for some men, that sort of thing was a turn on, and he was not one to shame anyone for their proclivities. It was also only natural for her to assume that he, a red blooded man with neither collar nor harness, was in an establishment such as this because he liked to take control, sexually. 

They were both about to disappoint one another.

“I say this with the most respect possible, but no, please do not call me ‘daddy.’ I’m terribly sorry to say this, but I’m afraid that we might simply not be compatible-” he weaseled. He was trying to be delicate as he started to ease away from her. With his index finger raised as if he were about to make a point in the discussion, he leaned back as she leaned forward, “This is not at all a statement on your general attractiveness, but rather- Look, I don’t think I’m interested-”

Disappointment crossed the woman’s features and her lips pursed into a frown. She fiddled with the slim black plastic straw of her drink before she up-ended the little that was left over his lap. It was mostly ice at this point, but there was enough fluid to leave an unsightly wet patch on his thigh. Thankfully, it was positioned in such a way that no one could accuse him of omorashi unless he had very unique anatomy.

“That was hardly called for,” he protested, futilely dabbing at his pants with a few paper napkins after she made her departure. He slid out of the booth the two of them had been sharing with a sigh as he glanced back towards the bar. He was seriously considering a second drink when his eyes briefly met with a solitary figure towards the edge of the social area. When their gazes met, the other man looked away, having undoubtedly witnessed his latest amorous failure.

Jaskier had his tastes, and when they didn’t run curvy, long haired and confident, they ran tall, broad shouldered and sharp jawed. He hadn’t meant to stare. His eyes traced the line of his neck that ended in a crisp black button down. The sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, baring unfairly toned forearms. He walked back toward the bar, ordered a plain soda, then turned back towards the stranger. He had done more impulsive things for less interesting reasons.

When he came to the lonely table, he flashed a smile, but was met with stoney, unyielding silence. The stranger’s eyes flicked between his face and the dampness on his slacks, and he said nothing as he tilted his head back and slightly to the side. For longer than was comfortable for Jaskier, they just looked at each other, before he cleared his throat and spoke up.

“Well, you wouldn’t deprive a man of a proper hello, would you? A quick greeting?” He flashed what he considered to be a charming smile, but when that returned nothing he let his expression fall, “You wouldn’t leave a man with vodka on his pants hanging, would you?”

“I’m not interested,” he returned finally, his voice the low sort of baritone that made the back of Jaskier’s scalp tingle. Despite this glaring red flag, and despite his usual respect for an outright, honest refusal, Jaskier sat down across from the other man. It was rare that he was so quickly turned away, if only because he typically had a good eye for an interested party.

“Tell me, is it a sexuality thing, or just my general,” he gestured to the whole of himself vaguely, “Three words. Just three words.”

“You were disingenuous.” 

“Excuse me?” Jaskier knew the word, knew it’s meaning, but was surprised to hear it both in reference to himself, and here of all places.

“Either that, or you’re simply unobservant. That woman clearly had no interest in playing the role you’re seeking. Did you miss the padlock pendant she wore, or did you just willfully ignore it?”

Jaskier opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. He scratched just under his collar as he looked away, conceding the point. After a few more moments of silence, he coughed into his hand and cut his eyes back towards the other man. He looked almost expectant of a retort of somekind. What came instead was, “You’re not wrong. Perhaps I did get a little overly hopeful, made some suggestions that might have misrepresented myself. How would you suggest I handle myself then?”

“Try and talk to someone who might actually be interested in giving you what you want. Someone else,” he grits out, raising one hand to gesture for Jaskier to leave him.

“I’m talking to you now, aren’t I?” he chanced. His eyes brimmed with mischief and his smile was as hopeful as it was eager. Three was the magic number. Three dismissals and he would trouble this man no more. There was something in his tone, something in his body language that made Jaskier sure that he was taking a turn at insincerity.

He got a single, short hum in response before the other man finished what was left of his drink. He dropped a few dollars onto the table as he stood and turned towards one of the rooms set aside specifically for play. When Jaskier didn’t immediately move to follow, he looked over his shoulder and indicated for him to do so with a flick of his head. Jaskier beamed as he hurried to stand and walk at the stranger’s side, sharing his prefered safe word and his short list of hard limits. None of the responses he got from the other man were strictly verbal, but there was an acknowledgement in each grunt that Jaskier was growing to understand. The lights in the play room were dim and moody. There were various stations set up in the open space, several of them occupied with couples or small groups already engaging in scenes. Anticipation coiled in his stomach, as the stranger led him past various implements until they came to a relatively empty corner. There was little more than a small, soft-looking rug on the floor. There was a rack of implements hanging on the wall nearby, and while Jaskier appreciated the aesthetics of corporal and other physical punishments, they weren’t to his taste. He noticed the taller man gave no attention to these tools, but instead gestured to the mat and gave a monosyllabic, “Kneel.”

Jaskier blinked. He looked between the other man and the indicated location, then moved to obey. He settled down onto his knees, elevated at first, his hands resting on the tops of his thighs. As he got as comfortable as one could get in this position, his eyes followed the other man as he pulled a chair over, then sat several feet away from him. Facing him directly, he didn’t offer any explanation, any other guidance or command, but instead subjected him to a scrutiny that Jaskier was wholly unprepared for. Honey-brown eyes scanned every inch of his face, and Jaskier found himself averting his eyes to the floor just so he didn’t have to see himself being so… seen. 

Minutes passed, and he shifted his weight between his legs, then lowered his hips to put the pressure on his shins. This earned him no scolding, so he chanced to glance back up. He found that his gaze was still on him. He wet his lips, and asked, “So… is this it? You’re going to stare at me while I just… kneel here?” As an afterthought, he added a sheepish, “Sir?”

This earned him a soft, amused snort and a quick correction, “It’s just Geralt.”

Geralt. The name seemed familiar to Jaskier, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it. Some rumor or gossip that had been interesting enough to eavesdrop on but not quite enough to remember explicitly. For a few minutes he distracted himself from his discomfort by digging through his mental archives, but then another question came to his tongue.

“Is this an endurance test? Some kind of evaluation of will? I am very stubborn, I’ll warn you,” he flashed him another charming smile, but the only acknowledgement Geralt gave him was a quirk of a single eyebrow. He wasn’t even graced with the dignity of a grunt. A few more minutes passed. He bit his lip as he continued to adjust his posture in minute ways. He turned his thighs out slightly, and leaned forward to press his hands on the ground between them. This put him in a more vulnerable position, but let him take some of the pressure from his legs, “This must still count as kneeling. If anything I’m even more deferential now.”

He had his face to the ground as he spoke, but when he looked up to gauge Geralt’s reaction to his repositioning the other man asked, “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Only when asked very nicely by handsome dominants. So far, I have been told to kneel and kneel alone,” he pointed to his knees, indicating that he was still very much following all instructions that had been given to him. He expected Geralt to give him additional instruction. He was used to being gagged, either literally or metaphorically.

“Let’s see how long you can go. Impress me.”

“Kneeling or not talking?”

“That was short-lived.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to retort something, but caught himself and turned his face back down. Though the mat was infinitely better than the plain floor, he could still feel himself starting to tremble if he stayed in one position for too long. When he glanced towards Geralt for a sign of which he prefered, he found no indication, just a steady focus on him.When he pushed up to sit in something akin to a seiza, he met Geralt’s gaze briefly before he felt the need to avert his own eyes. He had so many questions. What did Geralt get out of this? It had to be akin to watching paint dry. 

As time stretched on, he found himself trembling more than not. There was no clock in view, no way for him to know just how long he had been on his knees or silent. There was just the growing dull ache.

When the other man finally stood, it genuinely startled Jaskier. He held his spine a little straighter, rose upwards and placed both of his hands on his upper thighs. He followed him with his eyes as he approached within arm’s reach. He could feel his body protesting, but he kept himself in a proper kneel as Geralt started to circle around him. When his head began to turn, the man reached out and touched him for the first time. It was a light press of fingertips against his crown, and with slight pressure he guided him to face the front once more. His touch lingered briefly, another wordless command to stay. Anticipation coiled in his gut, and he found himself breathing more quietly so that he could hear Geralt’s footsteps as he moved behind him. 

When fingers stroked through his hair, Jaskier couldn’t help but lean into the touch, realizing too late that he had again moved his head. This, however, seemed acceptable, as he was rewarded with a soft scratch of fingernails at his nape.

“You may sit now,” came the voice like gravel, but somehow it didn’t seem to carry the same disdain. Relieved, for his knees and shins had begun to feel the stress, Jaskier sat back and stretched his legs in front of himself.

The spell seemed to have been broken, and Jaskier quickly found his tongue again.

“I haven’t been asked to kneel that long since Catholic school,” he started as he ran his hands over his knees and down his shins. There would be no lingering damage or deep bruises, but he could tell he was going to be sore.  
“Did you talk as much then?”

“That was one of the reasons I was made to kneel so frequently,” he replied with a quick smile, “May I get off the floor now?”

Geralt answered him by offering him his hand and helping him back to his feet.

“I’m Jaskier, by the way,” he said finally, realizing sheepishly that his own name had not yet come up. When Geralt gave a quiet hum and a short nod in acknowledgement, Jaskier beamed once more. He was still busy smiling when he realized that Geralt was trying to hand him what looked like a business card. The front looked professional enough. There was a black wolf’s head silhouetted on the far left, and in neat print the name Geralt Zrivii underscored with the title Private Investigator. There was a phone number, a fax number, and an email address following that. 

Confused, Jaskier looked back up at Geralt with a cock to his head. Geralt made a circling motion with his hand, and Jaskier turned the card over to look at the backside. Hand-written in black ink was what looked like a local cell phone number, and a username for a popular alternative dating website. Jaskier felt his stomach twist, and when he looked back up at Geralt, his lips were curled into a self-satisfied grin. This earned him a brief, silent roll of Geralt’s eyes.

“I can’t stay longer tonight. Do not call my professional number during business hours.”

“But after hours?”

“Just text or DM me like a normal person.”

“Right, of course,” he responded with mild chagrin, looking over the card for a moment more before tucking it into his pants pocket, “That was… interesting, Geralt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again at the modern au. I hope you enjoyed it, and I'd like to thank my bff who still doesn't have a tumblr or an AO3 account for being my cheerleader. Also thanks to another online friend who didn't want to be named for reading my schlock and tolerating an entire day of title hunting.  
> Hopefully this niche interest hits a few other people the right way.  
> Also, if you want to, follow me at rebrandedslaps.tumblr.com
> 
> Also, I'm always a slut for feedback.


	2. A Proper Scene

Geralt (6:35 PM): There is no such thing as a consulting detective

Jaskier (6:36 PM): How disappointing

Jaskier (6:36 PM): Though I guess that makes it less likely that you’ll go tumbling down a waterfall

Jaskier (6:37 PM): Also, I took the time to look over your profile

Jaskier (6:37 PM): I added you, by the way

Geralt (6:38 PM): I noticed.

Jaskier (6:38 PM): I also noticed that we have several interests in common

Jaskier (6:38 PM): I’m also very curious about a few others

Jaskier (6:39 PM): Would you be interested in getting coffee sometime?

Jaskier (6:39 PM): We could discuss our tastes and work out what we want from each other

Geralt (6:40 PM): k

Jaskier (6:40 PM): I’m free most weekends!

Jaskier hummed to himself as he stared at his phone, watching the three grey dots blink, indicating that Geralt was typing. His replies had all been short and to the point, and someone more socially conscious might have worried that it indicated a lack of interest. He did cringe at his choice of punctuation after the fact, but it didn’t seem to have bothered Geralt, who actually suggested a local cafe that was just a short walk from a nearby bus stop. He would have to wake up before noon on Saturday to meet him there, but it was a small sacrifice.

He had waited the weekend out before adding him on social media. He had certainly browsed his short, to the point profile the second he got home that night, but he hadn’t hit ‘follow’ or ‘friend’ until after the requisite waiting time. It was then Monday evening when he finally sent a proper first text. While he didn’t want to give the impression that he was overly eager, the unfortunate truth was that he was very much so, and it wasn’t in his nature to feign disinterest.

It didn’t help that the few photographs Geralt had uploaded were well composed. All of them were from the neck below. Some featured faceless women in various states of submission, while at least one had his strong arms bound behind his back. That was a question to ask later, however.

Geralt did not text much, at all. Jaskier’s fingers itched to send little messages during the 5 day stretch until their coffee date, things like, “Good morning!” or “How was your day?” But even he knew better than to pester. So he waited, patiently. He only checked their text feed once or twice a day, scrolling up through the brief conversation.

By the time Saturday came around, he had so many questions. The bus schedule had him at the cafe nearly thirty minutes earlier than their meeting time. It was just enough time to drink enough coffee to get nice and jittery if he didn’t police himself. It was a decent, if cool spring morning, so he had chosen a table outside. There were fewer people to eavesdrop should they be so inclined and he had selected a nice corner table that could afford them even more privacy. For the half-hour he had, he ordered a plain coffee and people watched. He noticed when a motorcycle roared by, but paid it nor the driver no special attention.

Until it appeared that that driver was approaching him a few moments later. Still far taller than Jaskier and dressed in jeans and black leather, Geralt had a rough grace about him as he maneuvered through the cafe’s outdoor seating to stand in front of the table Jaskier had camped out at. While he didn’t exactly smile, his expression was softer, interested, and he looked amused as Jaskier rushed to stand and greet him.

“Started without me?” he asked, tilting his head towards the cooling mug of coffee that sat in front of Jaskier as he started to pull off his leather gloves, tucking them into the pocket of his jacket. This completely threw off Jaskier’s planned opener, so he stood still and stared blankly across the table for a moment as Geralt took his seat.

“I take the bus,” he said finally, with a soft laugh. He wasn’t the type to get nervous, but he did feel something akin to it, “Got here early.”

“I see that,” Geralt responded, lifting a hand to summon a waitress from across the patio. Soon enough a second coffee mug was on the table, but Geralt apparently had no use for the sugar packets or cream cups that Jaskier had collected.

There is a brief pause, a lapse in conversation, and Jaskier lept to fill it, “So, to business? I noticed on your profile that you weren’t seeking a relationship.”

“Is that a problem?” Geralt asked over his coffee, quirking one dark eyebrow.

“No, just a curiosity,” Jaskier said with a shake of his head and a smile as he poured another small cup of creamer into his refreshed coffee, “Just looking for a confirmation. A more casual association suits me just fine… but am I right in assuming it could be sexual, yes?”

He had half expected to get a reaction out of Geralt, but he remained stoic, only tilting his head to the side before asking, “If that is what you’re looking for.”

“Isn’t… that typically the point?” Jaskier asked with a soft laugh, stirring his second sugar packet into his coffee before taking a test sip.

“You haven’t been doing this very long,” Geralt said. It was implicitly a statement, no question in his tone. Jaskier’s eyes cut away as he took another drink. When he did turn his eyes back to the other man, he thought he saw a trace of amusement around the corners of his eyes. Jaskier took a moment to appreciate Geralt, and for the second time he tried to guess his age. His hair was largely grey; to have merely called it streaked would have undersold the ratio. While there were a few years clear on his face, he didn’t seem as old as one would expect from his hair. Jaskier was distracted, then, by the line of his neck and where it met the corner of his jaw, so it took him a moment to realize Geralt was waiting for some kind of response.

“You’re not wrong, no. I’ve got _some_ experience, but I’m actively looking for more. My last…” Jaskier searched for the proper term, “play partner and I have gone our separate ways. I’ve been engaging in a few one shot scenes, but I’ll admit that I’m interested in something more consistent with someone more experienced.”

To that end he smiled expectantly at Geralt, who didn’t seem moved.

“Is this just a shortcut to sex for you, then?” he asked flatly, looking unimpressed as he glanced across the table at Jaskier.

Taken slightly aback, as in a few ways _it very much was_ , Jaskier shifted in his seat. He held up one finger as if to reply, but a suitable retort didn’t come to him in time. Geralt hummed in what might have been disapproval.

“Then show me how it isn’t,” He countered, finally, having added more sugar to his coffee as something of a nervous fidget. After stirring it, he pressed the spoon into his mouth, and noted with some small satisfaction that the other man’s eyes fell to watch it pass over his lips, “I’m as eager to learn as I am to take a short cut.”

“Doubtful.”

“We were absolutely chaste last weekend,” he replied with only a touch of indignation, “and I was interested in _that_ enough to ask you for coffee.” With that, Jaskier seemed to have made a compelling point, as Geralt set his mug down and rested his elbows onto the table. Jaskier took a breath, then started again, “I will be as attentive a pupil as you could ever wish for. I will be clay that you may mold, an eager puppy for you to train- Though I will say here that I would prefer not to do any actual pet play.”

To that, Geralt nodded in agreement.

“Should… we discuss those, then? Our limits, as it were?” Jaskier asked pleasantly. He was starting to feel the jitters of caffeine and sugar coming on, so he made a conscious decision to slow his consumption. In response, Geralt gave a soft hum and a nod, and looked across the small table expectantly, “Well. Big no’s first, shall I? First and foremost, nothing can threaten my hands. I’m open to padded cuffs and soft ropes, but nothing tight enough to bruise. No permanent marks. No edgeplay. No bodily fluids other than, well, the obvious. If it comes to that. Condoms. Though I’m not...adverse to swapping test results in the future.”

While he was talking, he noticed that Geralt nodded with each stipulation he put forth.

“I don’t have much experience with impact play. I could be convinced, but I would rather… get to know you and your style more before that,” he added, clearing his throat. That was usually a sticking point, as were what followed, “I don’t like being degraded. Teased, taunted a little, sure, but I don’t… I don’t want to be put down.”

“You like to be praised,” Geralt remarked, and amusement flickered in his expression as Jaskier looked away once again. He felt far too seen. It didn’t help that Geralt let him squirm in the moment, looking expectantly at him from his side of the table.

“..Well. Yes. I do,” Jaskier finally answered, catching Geralt’s gaze with his own once more. He wasn’t the type to be flusterd by frank discussions of sex, but being so easily parsed was it’s own flavor of embarassing.

The corner of Geralt’s lip twitched, and after a moment he spoke up again, “I don’t do public sex. I don’t do age play. I won’t choke you, or pretend to force myself on you.”

Jaskier nodded at the additional limits, happy to find that he and Geralt seemed to largely be on the same page, “Other than those things…”

“I’d prefer you just call me Geralt, or ‘sir’ if you feel the need,” a slightly sour expression crossed his features as he must have contemplated the alternatives.

Jaskier’s head bobbed again, and he waited a moment to see if Geralt had anything further to say. When nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, he began, “Am I to assume we’ll be back at the club for this? Or…?”

“Are you more comfortable there?” Geralt asked seriously.

Jaskier shifted in his seat as he considered the alternatives. Another location would ensure privacy, and Geralt had already put ‘public’ sex off the table. That left three potential locations. Jaskier’s own apartment was small, cluttered, and shared with a roommate. There was barely enough room for his bed, let alone the entirety of Geralt Zrivia. A hotel room, split between the two of them, would be doable, and a relatively neutral ground. If he were to be horribly murdered, he would at least be seen on security camera footage. Though despite his gruff exterior and superior strength, nothing about Geralt really overly intimidated Jaskier or made him think that he could at all be in danger with him. Considering that thought, he realized, too, that the last of the settings, Geralt’s home, had not been offered up by the other man.

“I get the feeling you would prefer somewhere with more privacy,” Jaskier verbally tiptoed, raising his eyebrows expectantly, “Because I’m not particular.”

Geralt leveled a steady gaze at the younger man as he settled back into his seat, his arms crossed over his chest in thought. He was quiet for long enough to make Jaskier uncomfortable, but when he finally spoke it was decisive, “There or a hotel.”

“A hotel it is, then,” Jaskier said with another nod, quickly running through the math in his head. One night stay, divided by two people at a decent place would cost approximately how much in hours tutoring? He internally cringed at the thought, but made sure to keep his face placid and unaffected. Geralt grunted in acknowledgment, and Jaskier continued once he realized nothing further was going to come from the other man, “Should we discuss our expectations for the scene?”

The taller man gave another nod, and Jaskier started by listing the limited equipment he owned and was willing to leave home with. Slowly he stopped talking as he looked up and caught Geralt’s growing, self-satisfied smirk.

* * *

Geralt had insisted on paying. Or, rather, Geralt booked a room and sent Jaskier a screenshot of the confirmation e-mail via text message. When Jaskier offered to repay him half, he got a short, to the point, “No.” It wasn’t anything outlandishly expensive or luxurious. It was a chain hotel not far from the airport, with free parking, WiFI, and continental breakfast.

The room was on the second floor. Jaskier took the elevator and wandered through identical looking hallways with ugly carpets. He wasn’t exactly nervous. He had taken precautions. His roommate knew where he was, should he not reappear the next day. In the parking lot, he had taken a photograph of the license plate of the only motorcycle in the lot, saved it to the cloud and sent it to a close friend and the roommate. Still, he could practically feel his heart beating against his sternum as he came to the room number Geralt had texted him. He took a moment to take a few steadying breaths, adjusted his meticulously selected clothing, then knocked his knuckles against the door. There was a click on the other side, and then the door began to pull inwards.

Geralt looked much the same as he did earlier that day, having only traded his t-shirt for a fitted black button up. He seemed to be putting forth some effort to put Jaskier at ease, allowing a twitch of a smile to reach his lips as he stepped aside to let Jaskier into the room.

It was his chance to back out, but it wasn’t a point of no return. He knew he could back out at any time. It still felt like a weighted question.

Without a sign of possible indecision on his face, Jaskier flashed a smile and walked past Geralt and into the hotel room, “I found the place alright… Wasn’t too far from a bus stop. Any farther and I would be billing you for an uber-Oh, we’ve started, haven't we?”

There was a single king bed in the center of the room and a table with a chair was positioned in the corner. A television hung on the wall opposite the bed. It had not been turned on. A black duffle bag was open on top of the comforter, and a small assortment of restraints were already laid out beside it. It appeared to be one matching set. Jaskier turned to look quizzically at Geralt after he stepped past him and towards the empty floor beside the bed.

Geralt leaned against the wall and watched Jaskier briefly flounder, confused as to what was expected. Agreeing to enter a room and undress was one thing, knowing when exactly to start was another. Seeming more patient than Jaskier would have assumed, Geralt just hummed inquisitively and cleared the path between Jaskier and the door. His way out was there.

Jaskier did not make a break for the door. He took another slow, calming breath and stared down at the floor just in front of Geralt. He was here because he wanted this. Jaskier undid the buttons of his polo before he reached for the hem of it, crossing his arms in front of himself. He was grateful to disappear into his shirt for a minute as he pulled it off over his head. He wasn’t self conscious, but he could feel Geralt’s eyes on him as he tossed his shirt to the side. He glanced back up towards him, curious where his eyes were resting. Despite himself, he felt a flush on his face when their eyes met. Geralt raised one eyebrow and shifted against the wall, looking as unaffected as he did expectant.

He swallowed, but held his gaze as he thumbed against the button of his own fly. Attracted to the movement, Geralt looked to his hands, and Jaskier saw his eyes darken with interest. He found his eyes cut to the floor rather than face Geralt’s open, if subtle interest in his body. He moved more slowly than he intended, dragging the zipper down until his pants were loose around his waist. He hooked his thumbs under his waistband and eased it down past his thighs, leaving his black trunks in place.

“All of it.”

“Right, right, yes-”

He hadn’t expected him to speak yet. He hadn’t been sure just how thorough Geralt had been when he said ‘strip’ during their earlier negotiation, but apparently the answer was ‘completely.’ Jaskier did not balk or hesitate, but first stepped out of his jeans. He traced the elastic of his underwear with his thumbs, from naval to hips, as he once again checked where Geralt’s eyes were. He didn’t expect to make eye contact again. Geralt stood up off the wall and then crossed his arms in front of his chest. Sensing more than seeing the change in his posture, as he had immediately cut his eyes back to the floor, Jaskier hurriedly moved his hands into place to push his trunks down. They slid a little faster than sensuously over his plush ass and down his thighs, baring himself to the cool hotel air. He kicked them and his jeans to join his shirt, then dropped his hands to rest at his sides. This felt awkward almost immediately, so he folded his hands together behind his back.

Jaskier wasn’t ashamed of his body. He knew it was softer in some places than others liked and that his dusting of body hair was more generous than to some people’s taste. Geralt had had to have seen this the night they met. It wasn’t a lack of confidence that made it difficult to watch himself being watched.

He stayed standing as he heard Geralt approach. He heard his heartbeat like a rabbit’s in his chest and his breath caught when he felt a knuckle press to the soft skin on the underside of his jaw. He let his head be tilted up. His eyes followed, rising until they eventually met the other man’s. He was close now. It was easier to tell his pupils were dilated. Jaskier could smell him now, or at least his cologne. It was something rich and woodsy, with undercurrents of amber and musk. His eyes searched over Geralt’s, sure that he would find some kind of disapproval.

Instead, Geralt pressed his thumb against his bottom lip, pulling it away from his teeth. Experimentally, Jaskier opened his mouth and pushed his tongue forward, letting the wetness hit Geralt’s touch. He tasted like salt and skin.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he offered in his rumbling baritone. With a quick exhale of amusement he slid his thumb away and pulled Jaskier forward into a kiss. It was far from the first time Jaskier had been kissed. It was not the first time he had been kissed by a dominant.

It had started almost sweetly; a press of lips, then the flick of a tongue against his mouth’s seam, but the more Jaskier relented and opened up, the more demanding Geralt became. His teeth caught his bottom lip, he sucked against his tongue, and when Jaskier made a soft noise he was rewarded with a hand running through his hair. Without thinking he reached forward for Geralt’s shoulders, and for a moment they just tasted each other.

It was when Jaskier’s hand reached Geralt’s scalp, and he pulled a little more that he stroked, that he heard the other man softly groan. The sound shot straight to his burgeoning arousal, but before he could act on this new information, Geralt had bitten his bottom lip sharply and was pulling away from him. Each of his hands found either of Jaskier’s wrists, and with a firm squeeze, silently instructed him to release what he had a grip on. Reluctantly, Jaskier did so, splaying his fingers in a sign of submission.

“Was that against the rules? Am I not supposed to-” Jaskier started, but stopped once he saw Geralt’s eyebrow quirk, “Oh. Right. Hands to myself unless- Well I can hardly be blamed,” he sniffed and looked to the side as his hands went limp in Geralt’s grasp.

“Stand still for me,” Geralt instructed, bringing Jaskier’s wrists back to his chest before releasing them. Jaskier stayed in place as Geralt circled around behind him, though he continued to prattle on.

“It didn’t seem as if you disliked my little bit of initiative, as I distinctly recall-”

“Arms out at your sides.”

Jaskier lifted his arms as Geralt asked. His train of thought was derailed by the leather straps Geralt was sliding over his arms. Curiosity kept him quiet as Geralt efficiently buckled and tightened the chest piece. He then gripped his forearm and pulled it behind his back, gently bending his elbow just so. He placed a padded cuff around his wrist, tightened it, then clipped it to the chest piece. Jaskier tugged experimentally on the new restraint, finding it snug and solid.

“Looser?” Geralt asked as he took Jaskier’s other arm to do the same.

“No, no it’s quite… They’re comfortable,” Jaskier admitted. He rolled his shoulders, then his wrists, and tested his new limited range of motion. Geralt grunted in acknowledgement. Jaskier heard the bed complain as Geralt sat down and his head turned slightly as if he could glance over his shoulder.

“Come here,” was the cue he was waiting for to turn around. Geralt was sitting with his back against the headboard, and as he turned to face him he noticed that he was stroking over his own upper thigh.. This was a promising turn of affairs. Jasker approached carefully, pressing one knee onto the mattress, then leaning forward and using his weight to balance himself as he pulled the other one up. His knees sunk deep into the bed with each crawling step, but he kept his balance by shifting the angle of his torso. Once he was straddling Geralt’s lap, the other man placed his hands on his hips, indicating that he had come close enough. Gradually he settled down to sit. The rough denim of Geralt’s jeans pressed against the soft skin of his inner thighs. He could feel the strength in his legs and the heat that radiated off of him. Seeing him was one thing, but being perched in his lap was another entirely.

That was when he finally glanced back up to the other man’s face. He sought approval in his gaze. His own bright eyes flicked over his face expectantly. He wasn’t even talking, he expected at least a smidge of praise. This seemed to appease Geralt, as his expression softened a bit as he murmured a soft, “That’s it.”

Geralt’s hands did not stay on his hips. They ran up his bare sides softly. His calloused hands were rough but not unpleasant as they gently slid up to his rib cage, then smoothed back down. For a while, Geralt seemed content to do just that. His hands softly roamed and explored Jaskier’s body, avoiding his obvious pleasure points to find his less obvious erogenous zones. Jaskier could have grown frustrated or impatient, but for a time he just enjoyed feeling appreciative hands on his body. Fingernails ran over his scalp. Palms slid from his shoulders to his abdomen, then down the tops of his thighs. It was when his hands slid down his back and avoided cupping his ass that he finally spoke up.

“You can grope me properly, you know. I won’t break, or faint, or cry for mercy,” he quipped. He felt fingertips pressing firmly into his back as Geralt acknowledged him with what must have been an amused hum, “This is an awful way to tease a man, touching every part of him but the-”

“Eager thing.” Geralt chidded, the corner of his lip twitching, “Be direct.”

“Fucking… _touch_ me, Geralt,” he asked, trying to let his voice slip into something low and sexy, “Sir. Please.”

With another acknowledging hum, Geralt conceded. His palms slid down to rest against his backside as his fingers curled under and dug into his ass. Jaskier’s breath hitched and he pushed up onto his knees, giving the other man full access. Alternately, his fingers kneaded into him and the heels of his palms pushed against his flesh. Until this moment, Jaskier had almost started to doubt the other man wanted him. He was considering the possibility that this was some oddly involved pity-fuck that Geralt was pushing himself to do for his sake.

Uninterested men did not touch you like that.

Jaskier’s head tilted back so that he could look Geralt in the face. His jaw was set forward, and his bottom lip was caught under his teeth. When he caught Jaskier’s eyes, he gave an amused exhale, and the younger man quietly cut his gaze away. That simply wouldn’t do.

“Look at me.”

He swallowed. His hips rolled forward after a particularly firm squeeze, and Jaskier briefly flicked his blue eyes back to Geralt’s.

“Jaskier.”

His tone was clear and to the point. There was no arguing with him. There was no sense trying. Jaskier took a calming breath and caught Geralt’s gaze once more. His stare was intense. His irises were a thin ring around his dark pupils, and his eyes did not waver.

“Good,” he praised softly, and Jaskier felt his stomach clench, “Keep your eyes on me.”

His hands slid back up his back to his shoulder blades in one smooth pass, then his fingernails bite into his skin and drag down the length of his spine. It wasn’t so deep as to leave a lingering mark, but it was enough to make Jaskier’s back sting. He kept his gaze straight and true. Geralt’s touch smoothed over his hips and down the tops of his thighs. Retracing the path partway, he diverted one hand to slide up his abdomen. His fingertips trailed up to his naval, before tracing down the dark trail of hair.

Jaskier swallowed and let his eyes close for longer than a normal blink. Slowly, he shifted his view downwards, to Geralt’s cheeks, then his lips. Almost immediately, his hands pulled away with a disapproving, “Hmn.”

Snapping back in place, he opened his mouth to start a fresh apology, but he was cut off by Geralt, “Too complicated for you?”

Jaskier balked, his brow furrowing as he prepared to argue, but then he caught the way Geralt’s expression had shifted, how a smile teased at his lips. Jaskier’s retort was then to exaggerate a pout and to straighten his spine. If Geralt wanted him to look him in the eye, he was prepared to make an honest attempt out of it.

But then his hand was on his cock. He hadn’t grabbed him suddenly or roughly, but it still came as a surprise. His hand was wet with lubricant that Jaskier hadn’t heard him open, and his pressure was steady. Jaskier groaned as he felt himself slide through Geralt’s hand, the circle of his thumb and index finger passing over his crown with each stroke.

He wanted to turn his eyes downward. He wanted to watch himself disappear in Geralt’s large, strong hands. He wanted to close his eyes and focus on the slide of his hand. His eyes may have unfocused, and his head may have tilted slightly, but he held his gaze steadily. He wasn't quiet for Geralt. He unashamedly groaned and sighed for him as he worked over his shaft. His breath picked up, and his mouth didn’t fully close between breaths. His pink tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he noted with some small satisfaction that Geralt’s focus briefly shifted to the motion.

It didn’t take much to get Jaskier fully erect; soon he was standing and flushed in Geralt’s hand. As long as he kept his gaze true, Geralt didn’t seem to mind his hips pushing and rolling into his touch. On the next stroke his wrist twisted as his thumb pressed over his glans, catching and smearing the clear fluid overtop his swollen head. Jaskier hummed into a soft whine, as he tried to catch his voice, “Geralt-”

“Hmn?” He hummed as his pace dropped down into a slower tease. This drew another embarrassing, needy noise from his throat, and he struggled to articulate.

“Is this- Do you want me to-Just like this?”

“Use your words.”

Jaskier sighed and leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Geralt’s. He was so close that it was difficult to properly focus on his eyes, which oddly made meeting his gaze that much easier. It was after a particular good pass of Geralt’s fist that Jaskier blurted, “I could cum like this-”

A thoughtful, “Hmn,” acknowledged his admission, but Geralt didn’t slow his hand further, “I thought that this was just a shortcut to that for you.”

Jaskier could have squirmed. His eyes shut, and he flinched, knowing a consequence was to come for that, “I want… more…”

“More what?” Geralt pressed, his hand gradually slowly to a stop at the broken eye contact, “Look at me, Jaskier.”

He couldn’t open his eyes yet. His face felt hot and he throbbed in Geralt’s hand. It was a perfectly acceptable way for him to get off. He should have been glad to fuck into Geralt’s hand until he spilled. Was he so greedy and eager that he wanted to be fucked properly, or was something else missing?

Vulnerability. Control. That mindless space he could fall into when decisions were made for him and all that was asked of him was that he obey. The sweet, subtle humbling that would be smoothed over with sweet praise. That was the real high he was chasing.

Fuck. Geralt had been _right_.

Blue eyes blinked open and he took a breath. He didn’t say anything, but stared meaningfully back into Geralt’s eyes. A flash of recognition sparked in the other man’s eyes. He smirked smugly, and while it was far from a full, genuine smile, it was enough to make Jaskier’s stomach twist.

“You want to be good for me.”

It wasn’t a question. Saying it outloud was almost redundant.

“You want to _earn_ it.”

Jaskier swallowed, then slowly nodded his head. Geralt hummed for him again as he released him. His hands moved to his hips and he flicked his chin up before instructing, “Turn around.”

The two of them moved at the same time. Geralt pulled his legs under himself to kneel behind Jaskier as he turned to face the foot of the bed. Jaskier leaned back against Geralt’s chest, earning him an amused exhale. Experimentally, he pushed his hips back against Geralt’s and he couldn’t help his quickened breath as he felt him through his jeans. Any and all theories of a pity-fuck were now abandoned, and he barely minded the tight grip that pushed his hips away immediately afterward.

“Bend at your waist. I’ve got you.” Geralt’s hands circled around Jaskier, supporting his weight and guiding him down until his cheek and chest were pressed against the bed sheets, “Is this comfortable?”

Jaskier felt completely vulnerable. He tested the restraints on his arms again, then adjusted his shoulders to settle his chest more comfortably. He felt Geralt’s hand running up and down his spine, and he knew he was expecting a response.

“Jaskier,” Geralt repeated, but it didn’t hold the same bite that it had earlier.

“Fine, yes, sorry, perfectly… exposed. Really just out there, aren’t I?”

“Do you want to reposition?”

Jaskier had to think a minute at the question. Geralt’s hands ran over his sides, then back down over the swell of his ass to the tops of his thighs. They were calming, welcome caresses. He was perfectly capable of breathing. The weight was partially taken off of his knees.

“No,” he replied honestly, that light feeling in his chest, “Sir. Geralt. No, I’m good.”

Satisfied with that response, his hands pulled away from Jaskier’s body after a final stroke. Jaskier strained his ears as he felt Geralt shift minutely on the bed behind him. He could hear the jingle of a belt, the quiet slide of a zipper and then the tearing of foil. There was a quiet rustle of fabric, and a warning touch to the outside of Jaskier’s thigh that almost made the younger man jump.

“Keep your knees together for me,” he instructed, petting him once more as he saw Jaskier pull his legs tightly together, “Just like that.”

Jaskier had heard about this before. He was vaugely aware of the place this sort of sex had in the history of homosexuality, but he had never before been introduced to it outside of a wikipedia article. When he felt the smooth, slick latex pressing between his thighs, he clenched them tightly. Above him he heard a low, pleased sigh as he felt the wrapped head of Geralt’s cock push between his legs. His shaft was thick between his thighs and he could feel the flare of his head crest past the front of his legs. For a few steady, solid thrusts, Geralt seemed to make selfish use of Jaskier’s body, but offered him soft praise in return. His voice is a low rumble that sinks into Jasker’s chest and makes him squirm in place.

“That’s good, Jaskier,” his voice sank into a satisfied groan as the younger man squeezed again. He crossed his ankles to give himself further leverage, and grinned to himself as he heard Geralt’s breath hitch, “So good for me.”

Jaskier couldn’t hate how the praise made him feel. His chest fluttered with every gentle encouragement and his abdomen clenched with anticipation. The only guilt he felt was in the abstract when he realized his own cock was dripping onto the comforter. Someone was going to have to clean that. He didn’t linger on the thought, as a hand was gripping the back of his harness and pulling his torso up until he was standing on his knees once more. He leaned back until his back was flush to his chest, and he stared down the length of his own body to where he could see the head of Geralt’s cock push between his thighs.

A strong hand smoothed up the front of his body until fingertips could circle one of his pink nipples. Jaskier sighs, but his breath caught as Geralt murmured a quiet, “You’re doing so well,” directly into his ear. The younger man could feel the front of his jeans hitting his thighs and ass with each thrust now as the steady rhythm grew more erratic, more desperate.

As Geralt came, his teeth pressed against Jaskier’s neck. It wasn’t firm enough to be considered a bite, nor would any mark be left. Something in Jaskier was disappointed in that. His hips’s motions gradually died out as he rode the edge of his orgasm, filling the condom he had so considerately worn. Jaskier’s thighs felt wet and sweaty, and when Geralt pulled back a final time he realized just how much tension he had been holding in them when he relaxed and let his knees come apart. Geralt patted Jaskier’s hip with something like affection, but before he could move to do more for him Jaskier spoke up.

“Geralt. Geralt, please, I’ve been good-” he chanced, his head tilting to the side as the other man slid his slight stubble against his neck. Geralt humed as if he were indecisive and Jaskier’s voice rose into a slight whine, “I’ve barely prattled this entire time and- _Oh_ ,”

Geralt’s hand was efficient. He cupped his palm against his glans and smeared his anticipatory fluid over his head, letting it mix with the remaining lubricant he had applied earlier. He thumbed against the flare of his head, then began to stroke him in earnest, sliding his hand over the whole of his shaft. His pace was well above a tease and his hot breath was in his ear.

Geralt’s voice spilled sweet assurances and praise. Jaskier felt himself cresting, could look down and see his hand moving over him. So he did the first thing that came to mind, “Geralt- Can I- Please, I’m-”

“Let go, that’s a good boy. Cum for me. Don’t hold back. I want to hear you.”

That did it for him. The noise Jaskier made was absolutely undignified as he thrust into Geralt’s fist. His seed hit his chest and dripped down Geralt’s knuckles, and he would absolutely have to leave a tip for housekeeping, but it felt so worth it. Geralt continued to stroke him, milking every drop of him out, until he whined and squirmed from oversensitivity. His thighs were exhausted, his body was loose, limp and pliant against Geralt’s chest. He felt wrecked, and they had done barely more than mutual masturbation.

For a few moments, Geralt just held him against his chest. Considering the comforter a lost cause, he cleaned what he could off of his hand by wiping against it, as his other hand ran up Jaskier’s back. With two quick clicks, the cuffs were detached from the harness, and Jaskier’s arms fell boneless to his sides. He rolled his shoulders as he leaned back against Geralt, but otherwise didn’t move as the other man eased them both down to sit properly, crossing his own legs and pulling Jaskier into his lap. His clean fingertips stroked over his chest, absently petting him as if he were some kind of cat. The mental image amused him, and without mean to his softly chuckled.

“Are we okay?” Geralt asked after a minute, having unbuckled the harness and now reaching for Jaskier’s wrist to reclaim his cuff. Jaskier hummed in a nonverbal reply, which earned him an amused exhale against his neck. Lips pushed against his sweat damp skin, and his clean hand ran over his scalp, “Do you need anything?”

Jaskier considered it for a moment, then slowly shook his head, “Just a shower, probably.”

“In a minute,” Geralt promised him. Jaskier found he liked the feel of Geralt’s clothes against his naked skin. There was something perversely satisfying in knowing that he had been entirely vulnerable while Geralt had barely exposed himself, “Do you need to talk?”

He let the question roll around in his mind for a minute, as he went through the scene the two of them had just run through, “I’m not… fragile. Or delicate.”

“I’m aware,” he replied, amusement lacing his tone.

“You could… be rougher with me. If you wanted.”

“Do you want me to?” Geralt asked frankly, his gentle caresses never slowing.

“...but you could,” he articulated again, thinking Geralt had missed his meaning.

“I wasn’t holding back, Jaskier. I have no interest in being rough for my own enjoyment,” he explained, staying patient. Jaskier didn’t know how to respond to that. While his experiences in the community had been largely positive, he had almost come to expect that his partners would always want more of something from him. To not have that pressure put on him was refreshing. That wasn’t to say that Jaskier didn’t want more of something.

“You know, as… great as that was, absolutely fabulous, no complaints or reservations on my end, next time-”

“Next time?”

“Next time, you should… really, most probably fuck me.”

This earned Jaskier a short, genuine laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could this have been two chapters? Yes. Did I want to divide it up? Nah. As always, shout outs to my bestie who still doesn't have an account anywhere and to my beta. Y'all make this stuff readable. <3
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and I am still a slut for feedback!


	3. Something About Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was late evening Thursday when he finally mustered his resolve to casually ask about Geralt’s weekend plans. Then Geralt had to go and beat him to the damn punch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my bff finally got an AO3 account, alexeimikhail! She reads it before y'all to make sure it's not just alphabet soup. Also thanks to Xander, my proper beta, who does a damn fine job.

Having now been completely naked in front of the man, Jaskier found his reservations about texting him had nearly evaporated. It was true that his messages rarely got anything encouraging back, but he wasn’t one to be easily deterred. He did, however, hesitate to ask when Geralt wanted to meet again. His thumb hovered over his phone as he tried to articulate his willingness without sounding desperate. He considered sending links to interesting products he found online. He considered being blunt or coy. As the weekend grew closer by the day, he increasingly had a creeping anxiety that, with no invitation of his own forthcoming, Geralt was uninterested in a second meeting. He thought things had gone well. The aftercare had been splendid, and they both left on what Jaskier thought were good terms.

It was late evening Thursday when he finally mustered his resolve to casually ask about Geralt’s weekend plans. Then Geralt had to go and beat him to the damn punch.

Geralt (9:15 PM): Would you be uncomfortable if I invited you to my apartment?

Jaskier stared at his phone. He reread the message. He sat up in bed and reread the message from a different angle. He took a long, calming breath and counted to ten before responding.

Jaskier (9:16 PM): Not at all  
Jaskier (9:16 PM): As long as you’re near a bus stop

Be casual, be cool. No punctuation was the safe choice. Jaskier was already cringing at having considered using an exclamation mark. Then, he reconsidered the question. It was true that he had met Geralt a total of two times, and that he rarely got more than a syllable or two from him through text. That he would be worried about his comfort at all was itself a positive sign. Jaskier also liked to think practically. If this man were to murder or maim him, he could have just as easily done so in the hotel room when his arms were cuffed behind his back. 

Geralt (9:19 PM): Fair point.  
Geralt (9:20 PM): I could meet you at the nearest one.  
Jaskier (9:20 PM): If you invited me that is... 😏 

He was left on read for a few minutes after that. It was just long enough to make him worry that he had crossed a line, that his gentle tease was taken much more seriously than he meant it. Cursing his poor judgement, he laid his phone on his chest and stared miserably up at the ceiling. Then his phone vibrated.

Geralt (9:26 PM): Are you free again this weekend?

Of course Geralt would be interested in meeting with him again. Who wouldn’t be? Jaskier’s confidence was easily buoyed back to its normal heights as they worked out the logistics of a second meeting. It was all relatively straight forward. They agreed to a time that synced with the bus schedule, then began to lay the basic framework of what they were to expect from each other.

Geralt (9:40 PM): Do you have any more questions for me?

Jaskier paused at that text. They had gone through the relevant details, he was confident that everything had been worked out. Something felt missing. Messaging Geralt could feel clinical or one sided. Looking back over their messaging history, apart from some explicit details in their negotiations, it was hardly apparent that their association was at all sexual. That wasn’t nearly flirtatious enough for Jaskier’s liking.

Jaskier (9:41PM): Hmn  
Jaskier (9:41 PM): Just one  
Jaskier (9:42 PM): What are you wearing rn? 😏 

Before he had sent the third message, Geralt had been typing a reply. That ended abruptly and the floating ellipses disappeared shortly after he hit send. They returned shortly after as Geralt responded almost too predictably. 

Geralt (9:43 PM): Don’t you have class tomorrow?  
Jaskier (9:44 PM): That’s tomorrow though…  
Geralt (9.45 PM): Earn it, then.  
Jaskier (9:45 PM): Earn what?  
Geralt (9:46 PM): You’re clearly after something sexual. I want you to convince me you deserve it.  
Geralt (9:47 PM): I’m sure you can think of something.

Geralt had matched his flirtation by throwing down a gauntlet. Jaskier sat up abruptly and glanced around his small, sparse but still somehow unkempt room. Nothing seemed to be terribly useful at this moment. For a fleeting moment he considered sharing a screenshot of his current grades, but the infantality of the gesture stopped him before he had even properly logged into his university’s website. His other ideas vacillated between the outright sexual and the juvenile. Then an idea struck him. Jaskier locked his door out of an abundance of caution, then quickly pulled his shirt off over his head. He glanced towards his reflection in the mirror that hung on his closet door, and, on a whim, hopped out of his sweatpants. Getting into position was easy enough, and he took a few quick pictures as he ran through his best assortment of pouts, soft smirks and doe eyes. When he finally sent the best image of the twelve, he was cackling to himself and grinning from ear to ear.

It was a simple image, with no filters or effects added. His face was clearly visible, which was a first for this kind of image, but to an outside observer it was almost innocent. He had held his phone above himself, giving the viewer a clear downward view of the length of his kneeling body. Bright blue eyes met the camera dead on and his brows were drawn in slightly as his peach pink lips curled into a hopeful smile. The brightly colored trunks hid anything that could be construed as indecent, but were just tight enough to tease.

Jaskier (9:48 PM): I’ve been terribly patient

He watched his phone for a moment and when the ellipses finally returned, he beamed and pressed his screen to his chest, to wait for the tell-tale vibration. A short video clip greeted him when he dared look at his screen again. He glanced to his door to make sure the lock was still engaged, then pulled his headphones from his night stand. With the volume on max, he turned his screen horizontally and hit play.

It is a relatively short clip.Shot from the chest down, it was immediately evident that an out of focus medallion and a pair of black boxers was all that Geralt was wearing. Jaskier realized quickly that this was the first time for him to see Geralt in a significant state of undress. Faintly, Jaskier could hear him breathing as he ran a hand over his own torso, tracing past scars that Jaskier would have never suspected. His touch slid lower, over his abdomen and then past the black elastic, until his hand covered his front. With a distinct, pleased hum, he gripped himself through the thin fabric and his hips rolled forward, “Goodnight, Jaskier.”

* * *

When Jaskier got off the bus, Geralt was already there waiting for him. Jaskier smiled as he approached, his hands sliding into the pockets of his light jacket for lack of a better use for them. How did one traditionally greet someone that was essentially a hook up? Should he have offered to shake his hand? He didn’t, but Geralt’s expression did seem to soften and he pushed off from where he had been leaning against the bus stop.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Jaskier started, which earned him a soft snort, “For the record, the bus was late. I’m perfectly on time.”

Geralt didn’t say much on their short walk to his apartment complex. Jaskier filled the empty air with slightly inane conversation. He didn’t find the occasional hums and grunts he got as replies discouraging and he was content when he managed to bring something like a ghost of a smile to Geralt’s face. There were subtleties in Geralt’s responses that Jaskier was gradually able to pick up on. 

“Third floor, first door on the right,” Geralt instructed when they came to the building. He held the doorway open for Jaskier, and followed behind him and into a brightly lit stairwell. Jaskier wasn’t sure what he had expected. The building was worn. It was older, but had obviously been kept up. The door to Geralt’s apartment stuck when he unlocked it, but after a firm shove they were inside.

The apartment was spartan. There were a few signs that it actually served as a home, such as the loaf of bread on the kitchen counter and the motorcycle helmet that rested on the worn coffee table. There was all the expected furniture in styles that were slightly out of date but well cared for. Compared to other places Jaskier had been expected to have sex, Geralt’s apartment was well kempt.

“You don’t have a television?” Jaskier asked absently as he watched Geralt kick his shoes off and place them beside the front door. Getting the hint, he followed suit.

“Don’t really have time for it,” Geralt responded as he pushed the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. Jaskier was briefly distracted by his forearms and almost failed to notice Geralt’s gesture towards one of the three doors that lead out from the living room, “Do you need to get ready?”

Oh. Of course. That was why they were here. 

He ran a hand through the front of his hair and shook his head. He had no other preparations to make, and they had already discussed what was to be expected.That just left the actual doing. The anticipation he had been ignoring surged and sent twists of desire deep into his abdomen.

Like the living area, Geralt’s bedroom was sparsely furnished and tidy. Jaskier noted that the headboard was a dark metal with a neat row of vertical bars of the sort that easily held restraints but looked perfectly innocent to a casual observer. On top of the neatly made bed there was a single coil of black rope, which even the casual observer would find suspect. 

There was no overt signal that they had started, so much as Geralt looked mildly expectant as he crossed his arms over his chest. Then it became something of a ritual, following a familiar, predictable pattern. Jaskier was to undress, slowly, taking care to undo each button and to fully slide every zipper. For a few more minutes he would suffer beneath silent Geralt’s gaze, as he was evaluated to some standard that he would inevitably seem to pass. 

This time, Jaskier held Geralt’s gaze for a moment. No shrinking violet, his eyes were clear and steady and his smirk was slight but confident. This earned him an amused huff. Jaskier watched where Geralt’s eyes traced until he circled behind him. He neither turned around nor looked over his shoulder, but heard him step up behind him. 

“Do you remember your word?” Geralt asked near his ear as his hands alighted softly onto Jaskier’s waist. They slid down to his bare hips and continued over the tops of his thighs as Jaskier nodded and hummed in confirmation. The featherlight touch merely added to his burning anticipation, and when it was removed he softly, wordlessly complained, though he knew what was coming next.

  
The black fabric was soft against his face as Geralt delicately looped it over his head. The knot at the back of his head was tight enough, but not uncomfortable. Experimentally, he opened his eyes beneath the blindfold, and was not surprised to find it entirely effective. Gone was the humbly furnished bedroom, and in its stead was only inky blackness.

The guiding touch at his waist was expected, and he let himself be directed towards the bed. Once the front of his thighs pressed against the side of the mattress, he bent forward and felt for the top with his hands. He didn’t need to be told to climb up one knee at a time and to then turn in place and face where assumed Geralt was still standing.

“This is impressively snug,” he said with a slight smile, reaching up to tap where the blindfold covered his temple, “Really can’t see a thing.”

“What would be the point otherwise?” Geralt asked him with a short exhale. Jaskier felt his thumb press against his chin softly as he gave his next directive, “I want you to lie back for me, with your hands in front of you.”

A little awkwardly Jaskier shifted from his knees to sit with his legs stretched in front of himself. He felt the mattress dip and turned his head towards the shift. A gentle touch to the base of his neck surprised him and he froze in place.

“Are we okay?” Geralt asked, his touch lingering, “I’ve got you.”

“Yes, sorry, just… Didn’t see you coming,” Jaskier joked and smiled hopefully into the darkness, to which Geralt hummed in bland acknowledgement. As Jaskier started to lay back, Geralt partially supported his weight, only withdrawing his touch once he was fully supine. Jaskier interlaced his fingers and bent his elbows then realized with dark humor that he must have looked like he was praying. If anything, this was an act of faith, a sacrament, and the comparison made the corners of his lips turn in a smile.

Lightly, Geralt tapped Jaskier’s fingers, bidding him to unlace them and then hold his hands upwards in parallel. Soft cotton rope circled his wrists as Geralt began the basic double column tie. It wasn’t anything overly complicated or beautiful and it had just enough give to be comfortable. Jaskier couldn’t help but to gently tug against it, testing the strength of the rope and the security of the knot. Both were more than sufficient.

Geralt guided his hands up so they were above his head, baring the length of his body. Then, for a moment, neither of them said anything. He knew he was being watched again. Even unseen, his scrutiny was harrowing. Naked and exposed as he was, he could feel the suspense twisting in his gut. The silence was getting to be too much. 

“I would say take a picture, but we haven’t negotiated that sort of thing, have we?” he joked again, his head tilting slightly as he heard Geralt moving around the bed. His legs slid over the bedsheets as he stretched and flexed, before they settled with an inviting distance between his ankles. 

“Do you know why I didn’t fuck you last time?” Geralt asked conversationally. Jaskier heard a drawer open and close as he shook his head and prepared his retort.

“Performance anxiety?” he offered helpfully with a wicked smile. He would have loved to see Geralt’s reaction, or more accurately lack thereof. Instead, he feels a bare palm strike the side of his thigh in a light swat, a warning more than an actual reprimand.  
Jaskier felt two warm hands push against his knees as Geralt’s weight made the bed sink. The rough fabric of his jeans brushed against his inner thighs as he pushed himself nearly flush. 

Even through the thick denim, Jaskier can feel his heat pressing through. The unmistakable firmness was encouraging. Swallowing another mouthful of anticipation, Jaskier attempted to press down against him, but was pinned in place by a single strong hand. Indignantly, he attempted to protest but his urging, “Geralt,” was cut short as he felt Geralt hover over him. His breath was hot against his ear as he spoke and Jaskier found himself tilting his head away and his shoulder down to bare the length of his neck for him.

“Try again.”

Distracted by the brush of lips against his ear, Jaskier scrambled to think of a more likely explanation, “You wanted to leave me hanging? Insurance for a round two?”

The “Hmn,” Jaskier got in response somehow managed to be both disappointed and amused.

“Right, okay. Serious guesses only now,” Jaskier hurried to assure, having felt Geralt begin to pull away from him. He wet his lips as he quickly put together a third and final theory blurting, “Trust. Something. Something about trust.”

“I needed to know you could ask for what you wanted,” Geralt expanded, brushing his fingertips through the fine hair that covered Jaskier’s chest as he continued,“I wanted to be certain you were enthusiastic, not cowed.”

“Concerned I would let myself be bullied into something?” he asked with a light, amused smile that only grew as he felt lips press to the corner of his jaw.

“You would be surprised,” was all the response Jaskier got before he felt the faintest brush of Geralt’s mouth against his own. Immediately he lifted his head to chase after him, only to pout into the darkness when he found him out of reach. As his mouth opened to offer grievances once more, he was silenced with a proper kiss. The complaint he had readied melted into a muffled sound of pleasure as Geralt’s tongue swiped between his lips. Jaskier eagerly sucked against him as he tasted his mouth. Each quiet hum and sigh he managed to pull from Geralt made heat rush to his cock. When Geralt finally thrust against his thigh, Jaskier hummed in his own delight, and wrapped his legs around Geralt’s waist. The hand that had pinned his hip slid up his thigh as Geralt’s teeth caught his bottom lip. For a moment, they paused to breathe, nearly sharing air as their mouths kept close. The next kiss was pressed to the edge of his jaw and followed with another against his neck. Teeth teased at his skin only to be soothed with soft swipes of Geralt’s tongue. 

Through their earlier negotiations, permanent marks had been deliberately and explicitly taken off the table. Temporary marks, however, had been coyly encouraged.

“Fuck, yes,” Jaskier breathed as he felt the gentle sting of a proper, sucking bite further down his neck. He squirmed beneath him. His legs tightened around his waist as he rolled his hips upward. The rough friction of Geralt’s clothing was only almost too abrasive, but it didn’t last for long. On his second thrust Geralt met him with a grind forward, before the heel of his palm pushed his hip back down to the mattress. 

“Do I need to tie your ankles as well?” Geralt asked against his neck. His breath hit the wetness he had left in his wake, which nearly caused Jaskier to miss the taunt. Jaskier then released his legs’ tight grip and dropped his feet back to the mattress with a soft complaint.

“I am dying, Geralt.”

“Hmn,” was the unsatisfying response. Jaskier could feel Geralt’s body sliding incrementally backward as the love bites descended just to the base of his neck and stopped. He missed them almost instantly, but the loss did not linger. Wet warmth dragged over his pert nipple only to be followed by the gentle tease of teeth. Jaskier sighed and arched his back upwards in response, but let his voice trail off into a soft whine as Geralt lifted his head away with a final kiss.

With a last firm, imperative press against his hip, Geralt’s touch moved to the trail of hair that led down from his naval. He traced it south with a feather light touch, continuing until his hand passed over the burgeoning firmness of his shaft, “You still feel very much alive…”

All Jaskier wanted was to push his hips up and thrust against that hand. Pinned as they were by Geralt’s wordless directive, he settled for shifting their tilt so that he moved only in the presumably unrestricted horizontal plane. Geralt’s fingers curled around him with no inherent rush. Gradually, he started stroking him in steady passes at a decent pace. It was more than a mere tease but not quite enough to be truly satisfying. Still, it easily brought him to his full attention and gave Geralt a bead of clear, slick fluid to smear over his head. Jaskier sighed and groaned encouragingly as the edges of Geralt’s grip pressed firmly against his flare on every upward slide.

Jaskier felt Geralt lean over him, presumably to reach for the nightstand with his unoccupied hand. Geralt hummed as he returned to center, then squeezed the base of his shaft. He dragged his hand upwards, encouraging more of that clear, slick fluid to seep from his head. Jaskier’s groan died out as a soft whine as he felt Geralt release him, but his legs spread further apart in anticipation.

“I wonder what you think is coming,” Geralt mused as he reached down to gently pat against Jaskier’s hip, “I want you to roll over onto your knees for me.”

“Was that just rhetorical?” Jaskier asked as he eagerly began to turn in place, pulling his legs under himself until he was resting on his elbows and knees. His cock hung hard and heavy between his spread thighs and without being prompted he arched his back downwards to better present himself. For his efforts, he was rewarded with an almost imperceivable hitch in Geralt’s breathing. Geralt laid his hands on his shoulder blades and slowly pulled them down his back. Jaskier could feel his callouses against his smooth skin, and it sent goosebumps down his spine. Geralt’s hands continued downward, over the curve of his ass and down the tops of his thighs, before they pushed up once more to each grab a handful of his backside. Jaskier gave a soft sigh of satisfaction as he pushed back against his hands, and then another when he felt the front of Geralt’s jeans against his base skin. He could feel his heat, his firmness, through the thick denim as Geralt indulged them both with a slow grind, “That can’t be comfortable..”

Geralt didn’t acknowledge him for a moment, taking his hands away once more. Jaskier strained his ears as he heard fabric shift behind him, and didn’t hide his anticipatory sigh as he heard a familiar plastic click. He let his chest sink to the mattress and pushed into his knees, knowing that he was completely exposed. He felt his hand slide over his cheek, pushing against him gently to further open him up. 

Then, nothing.

He gave him a few generous moments to undoubtedly visually examine him before he spoke up.

“Geralt.”

“Hmn?”

“Geralt.”

“Did you want something?” his voice was low, but amused, “Use your words.”

“Please,” Jaskier started, his voice toeing the line between plea and complaint, “touch me, work me open, get me ready, fuck-Geralt-”

Jaskier nearly jumped when he felt slick fingers sliding down his cleft. They found and circled over him in small, precise rounds and pressed only firmly enough to be felt. Bidding himself to relax, he started to push back against him, only to have Geralt remove his touch. With a sigh of complaint, Jaskier went still. After a moment, Geralt resumed his even strokes, letting his fingers slide back and forth over him. On a forward push one finally sank into him, delving only part way before being withdrawn. Jaskier managed to hold his position as Geralt continued to tease him, gradually working him open. Any attempt to rock back or meet the thrusts of his hand was met with a complete cessation.

“Geralt.. I’m- if you keep…” he swallowed before his voice sank into another soft groan as he brushed over that deep spot within him, “Stopping- we’ll-”

“Got somewhere to be?”

“No-” Jaskier bucked suddenly as Geralt’s next thrust struck true again, “-sir? But- Please,”

Jaskier could hear the smirk in his voice as he asked with faux frustration, “Do you want something?”

“God, yes,” he breathed, “I want more- I want to move-”

Geralt responded with only a thoughtful hum. 

A shiver of anticipation passed down Jaskier’s spine, and to illustrate his own point he pushed his hips back to meet Geralt’s next thrust. A second finger was introduced and to Jaskier’s relief, Geralt kept his pace even as he rolled his hips back to meet him. Geralt’s aim now steadily struck true, as Jaskier’s escalating cries and gasps had served as a guide. The bed protested Jaskier’s enthusiastic back and forth which only lapsed briefly as he felt the third introduction. The stretch was evident now, but his discomfort was superseded by every other sensation. 

When Geralt withdrew, Jaskier knew better than to whine. His teeth sank into his bottom lip as he shifted his knees beneath himself, easing them further apart. With nothing inside of him he felt empty, ready, and utterly restless, but still he bit his tongue. 

“Suddenly so patient,” as he speaks, Jaskier can hear the quiet jingle of a belt buckle and when he physically perked up, Geralt huffed in amusement. A small package was torn, there was a bit more rustling, the click of that same bottle, and then slick latex slid against Jaskier’s cleft.

His heat and girth struck Jaskier simultaneously. While he had seen him before, actually feeling his wide shaft sliding against his stretched hole made the inevitable all too real. With a soft, encouraging groan, Jaskier pushed back against him on his second grind.

“Is this what you want?” Geralt taunted gently as his hands moved to grip either of Jaskier’s hips, forcing him to take only what he deigned to give him, “You’ve been so eager, so good for me…” Jaskier’s breath hitched. The morsel of praise was enough to draw a shudder, and he felt wetness seep from his tip. His tongue passed over his lips, and emboldened, he chanced a soft whine. As he felt Geralt’s grip tighten, his eyes rolled back in satisfaction.

“Geralt, please,” he entreats softly, breathlessly. Discomfort had started to set into his wrists but his satisfaction was so close at hand that he could suffer it.

“No quips? Nothing clever to goad me with?” 

“No, just- Just want you,” he admitted. He was at his mercy. There was no decision for Jaskier to make. There was nothing for him to do but plead and wait. He did not have to do either for much longer.

Well slicked, the swollen, wrapped head of Geralt’s shaft pressed incessantly against his worked tightness. Jaskier felt his fingernails biting into his own palms as he clenched his fists. His cresting anticipation twisted his gut into knots. Patiently, Geralt eased against him, applying just enough force to keep his forward progression as Jaskier’s body took him in. It was a light, dull, slow stretching that was too much and not enough in equal measure. 

After the flare of his crown pushed past his body, he sank deeper into him, filling him to the brim. For a moment, Geralt held his position, allowing Jaskier the chance to acclimate. Jaskier could hear his breathing change. He felt his grip tighten and shift and he heard the soft, low groan Geralt wasn’t able to fully suppress.

“You’re taking me so well,” came the soft encouragement as Geralt began to withdraw. The first few rocking thrusts were shallow as he tested Jaskier’s give and comfort. Jaskier gave him no complaint, but instead released a soft needy gasp when he very nearly struck true.

“Because I want it,” Jaskier reminded him, “All of it.”

Jaskier felt his pace pick up as he continued to glide inside of him. He slid purposefully against his most ventral inner wall on every thrust forward, dragging over the nerve endings that reliably made Jaskier gasp and whine. While he held his hips steadily in place, Geralt deprived him of nothing. His pace picked up swiftly while sacrificing neither depth nor accuracy. His name was frequently on Jaskier’s lips, and was in the same esteemed company as, “God-!” and the occasional, desperate, “F-fuck...” 

“That’s it. So good for me. Taking everything I give...” his praise was coming easier now, more freely, “Is this what you wanted?”

Jaskier’s cock dripped eagerly between his thighs. Geralt’s grip on his hips had loosened, allowing him to rock back and meet each of his thrusts. He barely registered that he had been asked a question. When he failed to respond, he felt the grip to his hips return and Geralt’s pace minutely begin to wane.

“Jaskier.”

  
“Y-yes, yes sir, fuck, Geralt-” he managed after being prompted, “Please, I’m-” 

Geralt suddenly pushed deep into him and his voice broke off into a pathetic, desperate mewl. Each following roll of Geralt’s hips was full and thorough as he sank into him to the rolled end of the condom. Jaskier could feel his own body tensing and contracting around him as he found himself closer to the edge. 

“Geralt-” he starts again, “I’m so close, I just need… I just want-” As he trailed off, he hoped that he would infer, that he would assume and relent, but Geralt has no such mercy.

“Ask for it,” Geralt goaded. Jaskier could hear the dying resolve in Geralt’s voice, the hint of breathlessness and desire.

“Touch me,” he managed at last, “Stroke me, I’m so close, I’ve been so good-”

Geralt’s hand was warm and calloused as it wrapped around Jaskier’s cock. He gasped for him and after only a few firm, quick strokes he spills down his fingers and onto the mattress below. As his body tightens and his hips spasm, Jaskier can feel Geralt’s pace grow erratic. Growing oversensitive, he keenly feels each final push. Distantly, he hears Geralt release a low, heavy groan.

Geralt slid out of him a final time, leaving Jaskier feeling empty and spent. Without his grip on his hips to help hold him up, Jaskier let himself sink down onto the bed sheets. When he landed in his own spend he regretted his decision, but the damage was done. For a moment he lays in place and pants. He can feel Geralt moving above him and when a hand softly stroked down his back he didn’t react beyond giving an acknowledging hum of his own. He felt a soft tugging at his blindfold, and he wondered when he had forgotten he was wearing one. The dim light felt blinding and he closed his eyes against it as he was guided to roll onto his back.

“Jaskier,” Geralt’s voice was soft as he began to undo the knots of the rope at his wrists, “Are we okay?”

Jaskier hummed one more then chuckled. Slowly he blinked his eyes open and gradually met Geralt’s gaze.

“Hello,” he said with the hint of a smile, “I’m here. I’m fine. Better, actually.”  
It was Geralt’s turn to hum as he coiled and tied the rope back neatly before setting it aside, “I’m going to get something to clean you up. Can you wait here?”

Jaskier nodded slowly as he rubbed his wrists, then stretched his arms in front of himself, before he playfully warned “You know, I might rob you if you leave me alone.”

“Mhm. I doubt you would make it very far,” Geralt responded, patting Jaskier’s thigh as he pushed himself off of the bed. He disappears for only a moment, the soft click of the door alerting Jaskier to both his going and his return. A warm, damp cloth made quick work of most of the mess left on Jaskier’s body, and a change of comforter took care of the mess on the bed.

Even the fresh blanket smelled overwhelmingly like Geralt. Jaskier flopped easily back onto the bed once it was made again, then stretched his arms out towards Geralt imploringly. With an insincere roll of his eyes, he answered his summons. Gradually the two of them moved to the center of the bed together, settling with Jaskier’s head against Geralt’s chest.

“Is…Is this a thing? The clothes?” Jaskier asked after a minute, gesturing down the length of Geralt’s still fully dressed body, “I don’t mind it, don’t get me wrong. This is just our second scene, and I don’t think I’ve even seen your nipples.”

“Do you have a burning desire to do so?”

Jaskier pinched him through his shirt with a soft snort, but shook his head, “Not right now, no. Eventually, though, yes.”

After an acknowledging hum from Geralt, the two of them laid there in comfortable silence. Geralt’s hand lazily ran up and down Jaskier’s back and Jaskier drew slow circles on his chest with his fingertip.

“Hey,” Jaskier started after a moment of this, pushing up so that he could meet Geralt’s eyes. Geralt blinks at him expectantly and starts to sit up, anticipating a need that must be met, “I know. What we talked about. But… what if I wanted to see you. Outside of this. Like. A date.”

“A date.”

“Yes. A normal, regular date. Coffee again, or dinner.”

“Dinner.”

“Or bowling, or nothing-” Jaskier’s cheeks burned and he began to rethink bringing it up, “I know you’re not looking for anything else, so- But-”

“But?” Geralt pressed as he raised one inquisitive eyebrow.  
Jaskier shrugged and looked away for a moment, finding it easier to talk at Geralt’s night stand, “I’d like to?”

When Geralt didn’t make his usual sound of recognition, Jaskier dared flick his eyes back to him. Nervously, he forced himself to give a small, half smile, and was ready to apologize for bringing the topic up at all when he felt his arm squeeze against his waist. Geralt settled back down into the pillows and let his eyes close, but there was a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Alright.”

“Alright?” Jaskier echoed, his face immediately brightening, “Alright!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm, i feel like I should apologize for my slow updates. I cannot promise chapter 4 will come any quicker, either. But thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy things as i tease them out! Also I want to faint every time I read a comment. I want to reply to everyone, and I shall, but I must first steel myself and maybe drink some wine. Thank you all again!!


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